Autumn Leaves Burning
by PsandQs
Summary: Written before season 10 aired. Harry is forced to leave the service because of the Albany affair, and Ruth must decide where her future lies in the aftermath. Meanwhile, William Towers is working behind the scenes on Harry's behalf.
1. Chapter 1

**DAY ONE**

_October 2011  
Sussex_

Ruth notices the watchers as soon as she turns into the street. They are sitting in a car facing her way about fifty metres down the road. She slows down to check the house numbers, acutely aware that her car is under scrutiny from the two men. Twelve, fourteen, sixteen...  
Her eyes count ahead and identify the house likely to be numbered twenty-two, and it is right across from where the two men are sitting in the parked car. She turns into the kerb just short of the nondescript house and sits for a moment, observing it. Steeling herself. There is no sign of life. With a final deep breath she gets out and looks directly at the two men. They openly stare back at her, and when she turns her back on them and approaches the front door, she knows automatically that one of them is already reaching for his mobile.

Butterflies have taken up residence in her stomach and she rings the doorbell with a shaky hand. She listens intently, but can hear no noise from within. No heavy footsteps, or the pattering and barking of a little dog. In lieu of ringing a second time, she tries the doorknob, and to her surprise it opens. A glance confirms that the door is indeed equipped with a safety chain and a dead-bolt, but the occupant is clearly unconcerned about security. She ponders this for a moment, wondering whether it is an indication of changed priorities, before dismissing the thought. It probably has more to do with the two men sitting a few yards away. She closes the door softly behind her and stands, listening to the silence of the house. She doesn't call out. A few steps forward brings her into the open-plan living room, and she surveys it with undisguised curiosity. There is nothing that gives a hint as to the identity or the personality of the occupant, and its barrenness makes her heart constrict. It looks more like a self-imposed cell than someone's house, and she wonders again what she should read into that.

A flashing light catches her eye, and she sees a laptop sitting on the dining table, in sleep mode. She moves over to it, and hesitates for only a second before tapping one of the keys. As she waits for it to activate, she looks around one more time. The room is obsessively neat and sparkling clean; perhaps the Service is paying for a cleaner. There is a television, switched off, an impressive sound system and a comfortable chair placed before the window. A reading light is conveniently angled towards it, and this time she notices the book lying on the table beside it. Before she can make out the title, the screen in front of her comes to life, opening on an on-line chess tournament. Automatically she scans the names entered, and a smile forms when she notices one in particular. Giles Farmer has won his quarterfinal, and is scheduled to play against someone called Knight Raider in the semis. She is impressed, although she supposes she should have known that he would be good at chess.

The fragrance of burning autumn leaves reaches her through the open window, and she walks over to it and looks out over a decent-sized back garden dominated by a large oak. Smoke is rising from a drum situated in one corner; leaves have been raked into a big pile beside it. And then she sees him through the smoke, rhythmically raking more leaves into another pile. Her heart lurches, and she realises that she has never seen him doing anything so mundane, so... domestic. For the first time in a year, she dares to whisper his name.  
"Harry."  
Although it is impossible for him to have heard her, he pauses in his movements and lifts his head, staring at the house. His eyes unerringly find her, and they just look at each other for an eternity. Before conscious thought catches up with her actions, Ruth finds her feet moving her through the sliding door and across the lawn towards him. Harry doesn't move, but his eyes never leave her until she comes to a stop on the other side of the drum.

This is even harder than she expected. She has to try twice before her voice works.  
"Hello, Harry."  
He has his best poker face on, but she has always been able to read him better than anyone else. He is unsettled at the sight of her.  
"Hello, Ruth." His voice sounds hoarse, as though he doesn't use it often.  
Silence settles over them again as they drink each other in. She looks wonderful, and he is forced to take a few deep breaths to rein in the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.  
"I wasn't expecting company," he finally says, and she isn't sure whether this is meant to excuse his casual appearance, or an indication that he wasn't expecting to see _her_. Perhaps ever again. The thought is unwelcome and she pushes it aside, and instead concentrates on him. He is neatly groomed – hair cut short and clean-shaven, dressed in clean jeans and a thick light blue flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. She's not sure what she expected. Harry has always been fastidious, and there is no reason why enforced retirement should have changed that. Still, she is relieved to see him so well put together. Part of her, she realises, feared that losing everything – his job, his reputation and yes, _her_– would destroy him. It pains her to think about that and she casts around for a safe topic of conversation.

She surveys the neat garden and realises that she is missing something.  
"Where's Scarlet?"  
He turns away suddenly. "Died two months ago," he says gruffly before bending down to gather an armful of leaves and depositing them into the drum. He watches fixedly as the flames swallow up the new arrivals.  
Ruth's heart breaks at the thought of Harry losing his faithful companion. "Oh, Harry," she says softly and takes a step towards him, but he backs away and shakes his head.  
_Don't do this_, his whole demeanour screams at her, _this is hard enough for me_.  
He is looking intently at her now. There is wariness in his eyes, and an unmistakable warning.  
"Why are you here, Ruth?" The question is asked bluntly, and his intentions are clear. He wants no more games. Only the truth.  
She obliges. "I've resigned. Yesterday was my last day on the Grid."

Her answer knocks the fight out of him. He stares at her, genuinely surprised. "Why? You loved your job."  
She laughs hopelessly. "Mostly, yes. But there were also times when I hated it." Her eyes find his. "Those times became too numerous. The personal cost has become too high; it's time to move on," she says meaningfully.  
He closes his eyes briefly, then bends down to gather more leaves, taking his time over it. She watches as he feeds them into the fire. He does not acknowledge what she said, and her head drops at his carefully neutral expression.  
_So much for that, then_. She swallows hard, and nods to herself. "All right," she says resignedly, defeat in her voice. When she lifts her head there is a sheen in her eyes, and it almost breaks his resolve but he forces himself not to move towards her.  
"I hope you're happy, Harry-" Her voice catches, and he can't bear it.  
"Ruth-"  
"-and I wish things could have been different. I'll leave you in peace-"  
"Ruth!"  
She has already turned away when his voice gets through to her and she stops, unsure.  
He is in front of her now and his hand is on her arm. "Don't cry," he says gently, handing her his handkerchief. He gives her a few moments before he tries to explain. "I can't give you what you want. Not here."  
She looks at him, and his eyes are ever so sad and adoring, and it reminds her of another conversation between them. "Because this is a little house in Sussex?" she guesses.  
For a moment she sees the old familiar sparkle of amusement in his face. "Ironic, isn't it?" he acknowledges wryly.

Her emotions now back under control, she hands back his handkerchief. "So what _do_ you talk to the neighbours about?" she asks lightly. There is no sense in prolonging the pain they both feel by rehashing lost opportunities, she decides.  
"Oh, the weather, politics, sport." He pauses before adding, "The nosy couple _across the street_."  
She searches his face, intrigued by his inflection.  
"I wish things could have been different too, Ruth," he continues, taking her elbow and steering her back into the house.  
"Yes." She smiles bravely. "Perhaps in a different life..."  
"Or another time and place," he finishes for her, glancing sideways at her. She hesitates momentarily, before murmuring a soft "Yes". It makes him smile cautiously.  
"Catherine has invited me to spend a weekend with her and her husband," he says suddenly, apropos of nothing. "She wants to revisit this place along the coast I once took her and her brother to. I'm not sure though, one can never regain the magic of childhood, can one?"  
Surprised by this unelicited confidence, she studies him carefully. "I think you should go. The magic of childhood might be gone, but it is perhaps a chance to rebuild your relationship with her?" She sounds uncertain, worried that she is misinterpreting his intentions and thus overstepping the boundaries of their acquaintance, but his smile doesn't falter.  
They pass the laptop and he notices the active screen, and lifts an eyebrow at her. He seems amused rather than angry at her snooping, and she shrugs with a smile. "Good luck against Knight Raider."  
He laughs, then sobers quickly. "Thanks. The match is in five days' time, eight in the evening, if you wanted to watch it online."  
They have reached the front door and he turns to her, staring at her anxiously, as though her answer to his non-question matters very much to him.  
"I will," she promises, her voice turning husky with sudden emotion.  
Neither of them move, and they stand, gazing at each other, knowing they may never meet again. Then Ruth takes a step forward, and Harry reciprocates, and they're in each other's arms, kissing briefly but passionately. She buries her face in his neck as he clutches her against him, and he smells like autumn leaves burning. He allows them only a few seconds before he gently pushes her away and opens the door.  
"Goodbye, Ruth." He doesn't hide the raw emotion in his voice, and she gives him a watery smile.  
"Goodbye, Harry."  
He stands in the door and watches her whilst she gets in the car. He's still there as she drives past. The last thing she sees him do, is lift a hand to his mouth, and then she turns the corner and he is out of sight.

Harry stands for a moment longer, looking down the empty street, irrationally hoping that she'll turn around and come back. She doesn't, and he turns to stare at the two men seated in the car across the road pensively. Finally he goes back inside and closes the door behind him. He doesn't lock it.

- 0 -

**DAY TWO**

_London, Ruth's flat_

She is sitting in her favourite chair with a book on her lap. But she is not reading. Instead she stares off into the distance, pondering for the umpteenth time her visit to Harry's. She weighs every word that was spoken between them critically, trying to reach a decision. She is almost fully convinced that her analysis is right, but she can't get rid of the tiny sliver of doubt that remains lodged in her heart. Her thoughts are interrupted by a loud hammering at her door. Startled, she glances at the clock on the table. It is almost ten in the evening. She approaches the front door cautiously and peers through the peephole before drawing back swiftly, surprised. Frowning, she unlatches the door and opens it to the JIC Chairman, Richard Dolby.  
"What do you want?" she asks harshly. Every time she sees him her anger at the way he treated Harry comes back in full force.  
He brushes past her before demanding brusquely, "Where is he?"  
Ruth shakes her head, confused. "Who?"  
Dolby advances on her, and for the first time she notices that his face is contorted by full-scale panic. He stares at her wildly before almost shouting it out.  
"Harry Pearce!"  
When Ruth just looks at him uncomprehendingly, he states more calmly: "Harry has disappeared."

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**DAY TWO**

_October 2011  
London, Ruth's flat_

A slow smile spreads across her face. "You lost Harry?"  
Deep down she is euphoric, but none of it shows on her face. _I was right – he was telling me something_, she thinks.  
Dolby glares at her. "The two of you don't have any contact for a year; then you resign and visit him, and a day later he disappears. It's all a bit bloody convenient, don't you think?"  
"Maybe he grew tired of that drab house you consigned him to," she retorts. "He deserved better than that." There is anger in her voice.  
Dolby scoffs at the accusation. "He gave away a state secret. That makes him a traitor. He deserves to be in jail, but instead he is free, living comfortably at the tax payer's expense."  
"_Free_?" She is furious now. "I saw your goons. He is under house arrest, and I bet you have every inch of that house wired as well."  
A flicker of surprise crosses his face, and she knows that she is right. "He would have had more privacy in jail than he's had living in that fishbowl."  
_And that's why he didn't want to talk_, she confirms to herself.

"None of that concerns you," Dolby says, on the defensive. He tries to unsettle her with a change in topic. "You know, I never understood your role in all this."  
She watches him guardedly, but doesn't say anything.  
Relishing her unease, he continues. "You reject his marriage proposal, but he still gives away a state secret to save you. Then you criticise him for doing so, but the moment we try to hold him accountable for his actions, you threaten to go public with all manner of unsavoury things in an effort to save him."  
He shakes his head. "If I'm confused, I wonder how Harry feels. Which is it, Ruth? Do you love him or not? I mean he clearly loves you. He offered to take the house arrest in order to save your career, because let's face it, it would have been over had you gone through with that threat of yours."  
Her hands ball into fists, but her eyes never waver from his face. "My feelings for Harry are none of your business. I'd like you to leave."  
He doesn't budge. "Oh I see," he says vindictively. "You went to visit him, because _now_ you want him. And he rejected you. He came to _that_ decision a few years too late for his own good unfortunately."  
Ruth has never been more tempted to strike another person. She imagines her hand making contact with his cheek, the sound reverberating around the room. And afterwards, the red mark staying there for a long time. Instead she hisses, "Since you obviously listened to every word of our conversation, you know I have nothing to do with Harry's disappearance. So _get out_!" She comes close to yelling the last few words in his face.  
Dolby lifts his hands in surrender and moves towards the door. "I'd ask you to inform us if you hear from him, but I know you won't, so I'll spare my breath."  
Outside, he turns towards her. "But be assured we are watching, Ruth. If he changes his mind and decides he wants to see you again, we'll be waiting."  
The surprise on his face as she slams the door in it gives her immense satisfaction.

She remains there, leaning against the door, breathing heavily. Her jumbled thoughts jump from one memory to the next uncontrollably; Dolby's words bringing the events of the last year and a half into stark focus once again:

_Harry's face when she tells him he shouldn't have given Lucas Albany to save her, that she wasn't worth it, that it was unfair of him to love her in that moment; her despair when she watches him walk away to meet Lucas and probable death, and her self-loathing for not saying anything to comfort him; her guilty relief when she hears that Lucas is dead and Harry is not; her shock at finding out that Albany doesn't work, and the release of knowing that Harry is still the man she's always thought him to be; and the way her heart breaks when he is escorted from the Grid, and they are told that he will go to prison for treason._

And all of it leading up to that last, painful conversation with the Home Secretary:

_"Come in, Miss Evershed." William Towers waves her to a chair whilst observing her keenly.  
The summons to see the Home Secretary hasn't come as a surprise to Ruth. During her testimony at Harry's Inquiry, she openly threatened to expose the dark secrets of a number of the people on the panel, up to and including the JIC Chairman. She is determined not to let him go down for saving her.  
"I won't change my mind," she states, immediately laying down a challenge.  
Towers sighs, then smirks. "Harry warned me that you would say that."  
"You've spoken to Harry? How is he?" The questions are out before she can stop herself.  
"Yes. I saw him. I spoke to him." He pauses as he lowers himself into the chair next to hers. "He is... not well, Ruth. Disillusioned, world-weary. He's taken your Section Chief's death quite hard; thinks he failed him."  
She has gone pale; the thought of Harry being held somewhere, isolated and alone, coping with these feelings, crushes her.  
"Can't you get me in to see him? Please?" She is begging, and she doesn't care. She will grovel at his feet if it would make any difference.  
But he shakes his head. "I can't, I'm sorry. I can, however, ensure that he doesn't go to prison."_

_The hope on her face as she looks at him makes him uncomfortable; he knows he is about to dash it with his next words._  
_"This is what Harry wants: You must drop these threats you've made. You are to take no action whatsoever against any of the panel members. He has decided not to fight the charges against him, and has agreed to retire and go and live quietly away from London. He will be under a loose form of house arrest, but at least he won't be in prison."_  
_Ruth has lost even more colour and shakes her head determinedly. "No, that means he'll forever be branded a traitor. That's not fair-"_  
_"Please!" Towers interrupts sharply. "This is not negotiable, Ruth." He wipes a weary hand over his face. "Of course it's not fair. It's a disgrace, in my opinion. But there is nothing to be done. He has too many powerful enemies, and you blackmailing some of them will only worsen the situation. This way at least he will be provided a house and a small pension. And you will get to keep your job."_  
_He looks at her meaningfully, and she grasps what is going on. Harry is sacrificing himself so that she will not be fired for threatening blackmail against a few eminent senior intelligence officers._

_She closes her eyes for a moment. "I can't let him do that. He's in trouble for trying to save me in the first place. No," she says decisively, "I'm going ahead-"_  
_"For God's sake!" Towers exclaims in exasperation. "He said that you already sacrificed everything for him once, and he won't allow you to do it again. Especially since you're doing it out of guilt. I won't presume to think I know him better than you do, but after my discussion with him one thing is abundantly clear. Harry feels enormous guilt over what happened: both Lucas North's death and the loss of Albany. He is struggling to come to terms with the fact that he has given away a state secret, and I get the sense he feels that he deserves some punishment for that. Don't add to his burden by also making him responsible for you losing your job."_

_She stares at him, lost for words._  
_He continues more gently. "Do what he asks. Harry says that a year is enough time for the Service to change all the codes, procedures and other things he currently knows. If he should disappear after that; well, they'll have less incentive to go after him. In a year's time my own position will be stronger, and I think I can persuade them to let him be if he does decide to go. He asks that you not contact him, for your own sake."_  
_Her face gives nothing away of her distress, but her hands are fidgeting restlessly with the bottom of her jacket. She nods resignedly and moves towards the door. Halfway there she stops and turns back to him._  
_"I'll do as he asks. Tell him he's wrong though; I'm not trying to save him out of guilt." She doesn't elaborate - she doesn't have to. She continues, "I'm going to come and see him after one year, to tell him that myself. If he hasn't changed his mind about us by then, we can discuss our future. Make sure you tell him that."_  
_Towers beams. "I will."_  
_His expression tells her he will move heaven and earth to make sure Harry knows, and she nods, satisfied, before walking out the door to start the longest year of her life._

She pushes away from the door, her decision made. Even if she has read everything wrong, and Harry never meant to give her hidden messages during their short conversation, she will proceed as though he had. She will risk ridicule and possible arrest, but she will not let her doubts lead to this last chance passing her by. Her face set determinedly, she sits down at the dining table to devise a plan. She has three days left in which to figure out where he is.  
_The place along the coast where he took his children once._  
She'll have to contact Catherine. For once she is thankful that he had been such a bad father – that should narrow down the options considerably. And she'll have to find a way to get there without Dolby noticing.  
_Before eight in the evening_, she reminds herself. She is determined not to be late. Perhaps with the assistance of an old colleague, she will pull it off. A thought occurs to her and she pulls the laptop towards her. She spends some time perusing online advertisements, and jots down information on a pad. After making sure that there is no surveillance on her movements within the building, she walks up the stairs to visit Ann, the old lady who lives above her. She asks to use the phone and makes a few calls. On the fourth try she is lucky, and after arranging everything she sits back, satisfied.

Next, she turns her mind to the problem of speaking to Catherine. She assumes that they are also monitoring Harry's daughter in the hope that he will contact her. A direct approach or phone call is therefore out of the question; she needs help. With an apologetic look at Ann, she dials again. Dimitri picks up after a few rings, and is overjoyed to hear from her. He tells her that he misses her calming presence on the Grid. Even though she was different for the last year – withdrawn and brooding - the two of them and Tariq continued to share a close bond among all the new faces. Dimitri and the young techie understood the reason for the change in her, and they never mentioned it in her presence; in fact they never mentioned anything related to Harry, out of respect for her feelings. The two of them closed ranks around her, and anyone caught whispering about her relationship with Harry or their former boss' fall from grace was severely told off. Ruth knows all this, and feels bad about exploiting Dimitri, but she has no option. She is sure he understands.

- 0 -

**DAY THREE**

_London, the Tube_

It is the morning rush hour and the Tube is packed. Catherine stands in a press of bodies, staring vacantly at the ads on the wall in front of her. The train sways and rattles its way underneath London as she plans her day, and mentally goes through the proposal she will present to a possible financier of her next project. The teenager standing next to her shifts and she feels his arm press against her. She watches him out of the corner of her eye suspiciously, some innate instinct telling her he's not what he seems. They pull into the next station, and as he squeezes past her to get to the door, she feels him slip something into her coat pocket.  
"It's about your father," he murmurs quietly as her hand automatically goes to her pocket and finds the outline of a mobile phone. The hubbub of people disembarking assures that no-one can overhear. "Call the number on it in an hour's time."  
He gets an impatient nudge from the woman behind him, and she barely has time to nod before he disappears through the closing doors.

From where he is sitting, pretending to read the paper, Dimitri had a clear view of the exchange. As his eyes travel over the printed words before him unseeingly, all his attention is focussed on the woman standing a few feet away. It is the first time he has seen Harry's daughter in person, and she has a poise about her that he likes. At that moment he is also impressed by her coolness. She doesn't take out the mobile and look at it, or crane her neck to stare after the boy who gave it to her. Her face is slightly flushed, but otherwise she shows no reaction at all. He smiles to himself. She is definitely a chip off the old block. And now all he can do is hope that she'll make the call and enable the woman her father loves to find him.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**DAY THREE**

_One hour later  
London, Ann's flat_

Ruth paces Ann's flat restlessly, glancing once again at her watch. Only a minute has passed since the last time she looked, and she blows out a frustrated breath.  
_She'll call... No she won't... Dolby's men saw the exchange, they've picked her up... She will go to the Police..._  
Ruth makes a strangled noise and resumes pacing, trying to rein in her anxious thoughts. Ann wordlessly places a mug of tea next to the phone and squeezes Ruth's shoulder reassuringly. The younger woman has told her very little, but she knows it is about a man Ruth loves, and that is enough for her. Ann is a romantic soul who enjoyed a long, happy marriage until her husband died and will provide any assistance her downstairs neighbour asks for. Ruth smiles thankfully at her, but it is fleeting, and the frown is soon back between her eyes. She reaches for the mug, and as her hand touches it, the phone next to it rings shrilly. Both women freeze and stare at it disbelievingly, as though it is somehow a cruel trick being played on them.  
"Go on, love," Ann urges, fearful that it will stop ringing before Ruth breaks out of her trance.  
Her hand moves a few inches to the right and snatches up the receiver.

Silence reigns on the line as both women wait for the other person to identify themselves. Eventually Catherine snaps impatiently, "Who is this?"  
Ruth forces herself to speak. "It doesn't matter. Are you Catherine?"  
"You organised for me to get the mobile, you know who I am," Catherine retorts. "And it matters very much who the hell you are." There is fear underlying her belligerent tone, and Ruth makes an instant decision to trust her.  
"My name is Ruth. I used to work with your father. He's disappeared, and I need to find him. Not for the Service," she hastens to add, "for myself. He wants me to meet him at the place by the coast where he once took you and your brother for a vacation. I need you to tell me where that is."  
She stops speaking, and in the silence that follows she can hear traffic in the background. Catherine must be standing on the pavement somewhere whilst talking to her.  
"You're Ruth?" Harry's daughter asks warily.  
"Yes."  
"Prove it."

This is not quite how Ruth expected the conversation to go, and she casts around for a way to do so, but comes up empty. She has no idea how much Harry has told his daughter about her.  
"How?" she enquires in the end.  
"The first time Dad asked you out, he referenced a movie. Which one?"  
Ruth stares at the wall in front of her, amazed that Harry remembers such a detail. And told his daughter about it.  
"Gold Rush," she replies with a wistful smile, then finds herself elaborating unsolicited. "He mimicked the bread roll dance from it, and said he'd go anyway even if I said no, and be like the Charlie Chaplin character, waiting for the girl and making the bread rolls dance."

It is the emotion in Ruth's voice as much as the answer that convinces Catherine the other woman is who she claims to be. Her tone is much softer as she speaks again.  
"A few months ago an older guy came to my flat. His name was Malcolm, and Dad sent him. He told me Dad planned to disappear and didn't want me to worry when it happens. He also said a woman named Ruth might contact me to ask for a location, and to ask you that question to check whether it's really you. Only if you answered correctly was I to give you the information."  
_He started planning this from the moment he accepted the house arrest_, Ruth thinks dazedly. Catherine's voice continues: "He's in Whitby. He'll be waiting at the end of the harbour pier at the time you agreed."  
Ruth is momentarily overcome. "Thank you," she manages to say after a few deep breaths.  
"Are you going with him?" Catherine asks bluntly.  
There is a slight hesitation before Ruth answers truthfully, "...If he'll let me."  
Even though the other woman cannot see her, Catherine nods to herself. "I think he will. He wouldn't have given you a way to find him otherwise."  
Ruth hopes fervently that she is right.  
"Will you take care of him?" Catherine asks urgently when Ruth stays silent. "He hurts more easily than he lets on."  
Her concern for her father's well-being is obvious, and a warm feeling spreads through Ruth's chest on his behalf.  
"I will," she says with total conviction. "Thank you, Catherine. It's impossible to express how grateful I am for this information." She can't resist adding, "Your father loves you dearly, you know."  
Catherine laughs softly. "I know. He had Malcolm tell me. The poor man blushed and stammered hopelessly, but to his credit he got the message across in the end."  
Ruth chuckles at the image, and Catherine likes the sound of her laugh. She thinks her father has made a wise choice in letting this woman into his life. "I wish you both every happiness. Good luck," the younger woman says before ringing off abruptly.

Ruth stands immobile, clutching the receiver and listening to the disconnected tone. It sinks in for the first time – she is really going to do this. She is going with him.  
Ann watches the play of emotions on Ruth's face with a small smile of understanding. Seldom has she seen such yearning on someone else's face. She hopes to God everything works out.  
Ruth turns to her. "I need one final favour from you," she asks as her eyes travel to the suitcase standing just inside the door.

- 0 -

**DAY FOUR**

_London, Ruth's flat_

The two men detailed with the surveillance of Ruth Evershed watch her walk out the front door of her building, and slip into the throngs of early morning pedestrians a few paces behind her. She is easy to follow; she is wearing her red blouse today and stands out in the crowd. They have been following her for a month – ever since she handed in her resignation – and her routine has become boringly predictable. During her notice month every day had been the same. Catching the bus to work, leaving more or less on time and going to a Rare Books Shop where she browsed for an hour or so, before catching the bus home again. Since her last day at work, the routine has changed to a later start, before taking the bus to some bookshop or other – the same Rare Books Shop most often – where she browses for hours on end. The only bit of excitement occurred when she suddenly got in her car and drove out to Sussex a few days ago. Today, however, she is back to the usual routine. She disappears into the bookshop, her large handbag slung over her shoulder. The two men glance at each other wearily; this is probably the dullest surveillance they have ever had. One man follows her inside, whilst the other resigns himself to loiter across the street interminably.

Ruth picks a few books from the shelves and settles into one of the comfortable chairs scattered around the shop, and begins reading. She is vaguely aware of the man that entered shortly after her; he has settled into another chair out of her line of sight. The shop is quiet for the time being, but she knows from experience that things will pick up later on. She is proven correct when a group of students enter noisily about an hour later, and Ruth decides it is a good time to visit the Ladies. On her way there she passes the man that followed her in. His nose is buried in a newspaper and he pays her no attention. Hitching her handbag more securely onto her shoulder, she pushes open the door to the Ladies and disappears inside. A few minutes later two of the students – one blonde and the other dark-haired - go into the bathroom as well, and comes back out shortly after that and leave the shop. The man notices them in his peripheral vision, but there is no splash of red, so he doesn't chance a direct look and waits, wondering what women do inside the Ladies that always take so long. Time ticks by and still the mark does not reappear. He is getting antsy now, and his eyes dart around the shop one more time. He can't see her. Just as he's about to get up and check the bathroom, the door opens and a woman comes out. He expects it to be her, but it is not. It is the dark-haired student that entered after her; that he thought had come back out with the blonde one and left the shop. Only now does he notice that she is the same height and build as the woman they'd been following.  
"Oh, shit." He brushes past the woman and bursts into the bathroom. It is empty, except for a large handbag filled with the clothes she wore that morning. The red blouse mocks him from the top of the pile, and he closes his eyes in despair before rushing out to his colleague.

- 0 -

_Whitby_

He leans against the stone wall and gazes across the harbour. He arrived in the town yesterday, and has drifted through the streets almost non-stop since then. By now he is sure – he is not under surveillance. Still, his senses remain heightened, and he is aware of every casual glance directed his way. The professional in him weighs every person that passes him in the blink of an eye, judging who is a potential watcher, and who is just a normal citizen going about his or her business. Whitby is large enough for a new arrival not to stand out, even out of season. He knows this, counts on it. He has planned every move to the most miniscule detail, determined to get this right, to give himself every chance to succeed. No, he thinks, to give _them_ every chance to succeed. He hardly dares hope that she'll come. There is so much that can go wrong. What if she didn't understand his hidden messages? Dolby could have picked her up the moment he disappeared – he would surely have her under surveillance, what if she can't shake them off? Or perhaps she won't be able to get hold of Catherine. His hands clench together unconsciously. Another thought, darker and more painful than the others, lurks at the back of his mind. He has refused to acknowledge it until now, but as he stands staring into the water, he forces himself to do so.  
She may not _want_to come.

He cannot blame her if this were the case. It is unfair to expect her to give up everything to come with him. She's already had to do it once before, after all. But he knows, if she doesn't come, that a part of him will die. In this he cannot help but be selfish. He wants, more than anything, a chance at a life with her. Ever since the Home Secretary delivered her message to him a year ago, this day is all he's thought of and planned for.  
_Tell him I'm not doing it out of guilt_, he remembers. He's held onto that statement with determination through the dark year that followed, letting himself believe that they may have a future together. But now that the time is here, the doubt once again begins to creep in, and it scares him.  
_Please come_, he begs the restless water silently. Then he feels guilty at his selfishness, and he thinks, _No. Do what makes you happy, Ruth_.

- 0 -

_London_

Richard Dolby is apoplectic. The two men that are detailed with the surveillance on Ruth stand before him, heads bowed.  
"You _lost_ her?!" His voice goes up a register. "The woman was an _analyst_ for God's sake, and yet she pulled the wool over your eyes with consummate ease!" He glares at them. "What about CCTV?"  
One of the men clears his throat and mumbles, "We checked. She obviously knows where all the blind spots are. We can't find her anywhere."  
The JIC Chairman sinks into his chair, contemplating the scope of the catastrophe he is faced with. Not only has he lost Harry Pearce, but now he has also lost the woman Harry gave away that state secret for. As he picks up the phone and calls the Home Secretary, part of him is aware that this will become _his_Albany. And whilst Harry's has cast him as a romantic hero in the eyes of many, his own is more likely to cast him as the court jester. With this last defiant act, Harry Pearce and Ruth Evershed have condemned his career to ridicule.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**DAY FIVE**

_The M1 North_

As he drives steadily north through the early morning mist, Kenny Morris glances at his passenger every now and then. She is dozing against the window, using her scarf as a pillow. He wonders what her story is. Dimitri sometimes uses him for deniable jobs like these, and when his boyhood friend tells him not to ask any questions, he obeys, knowing it is better for his own safety to know as little as possible. All he was told was that he had to pick up a package from a specific bus stop on the outskirts of London, and take it wherever it wants to go. He arrived to find a dark-haired, intense looking woman with a medium sized suitcase. She asked to go to Whitby, via Leeds, and sat beside him tensely until they left London behind. Only then did she relax and settle herself more comfortably. She hasn't spoken to him since making her request, and as he observes her features out of the corner of his eye, she looks exhausted and on edge, even in her sleep. But then her mouth unexpectedly curves in a gentle smile, and he wonders what she's dreaming about. He turns his eyes back to the road, making sure he's well within the speed limit. Best not to attract undue attention by being caught speeding. A road sign flashes by, indicating two hundred and twenty miles to Leeds. He glances at the clock on the dashboard, and grunts in satisfaction. They're making good time. His passenger was adamant that she should reach Whitby by seven tonight. Barring an unforeseen calamity, they should make it in plenty of time.

- 0 -

_London_

William Towers dresses meticulously for his day. As he does so, his thoughts go back to the events of the previous day and the JIC Chairman's panicky call. He smiles with pleasure at the recollection. Richard Dolby is a pompous, bureaucratic coward in Towers' opinion, and he took great delight in heaping further misery on the man. This morning he is invited to take breakfast with the PM, and he intends to use the more relaxed atmosphere to ask for the pardoning of Harry Pearce. Over the last year he has quietly worked towards this goal, by building up favours owed or gathering information that senior intelligence officials would prefer to rather not come out. He has wheedled and indirectly threatened until he received the support of all senior intelligence officials, bar Dolby. Harry and Ruth's disappearing act has now allowed Towers to put the final piece of the puzzle in place – the JIC Chairman's support for the petition. It offers a way out of an expensive and no doubt doomed operation to try and find the two fugitives. It will also spare the Service's blushes should it fail to locate them. When faced with the fact that he was the only one that didn't want the pardon to be granted, Dolby capitulated reluctantly, knowing that refusing would expose his personal reasons behind persecuting Harry Pearce with such vengeance. However, the Home Secretary is well aware of Dolby's professional jealousy towards Harry, and suspects the man will continue to look for him surreptitiously, if only to prove that he is the better spook.

Towers regards his appearance critically before meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He likes to win, and the glint of victory is evident in the gaze staring back at him. And this time it is further sweetened by the fact that he feels he is doing something that is really worthwhile. He has grown to admire and respect Harry over the year they worked together, and honestly feels a terrible injustice was done in convicting him of treason. Now, at last, that record may be expunged and the man allowed his freedom. Should the PM agree to the pardoning, Harry can be a free man in a month's time. All he needs to do is to stay out of Dolby's clutches for that period.  
"Godspeed, Harry," he mumbles to his mirror image before turning away and gathering up his papers.

- 0 -

_Whitby_

Harry is walking again. He awoke before dawn, and decided to get up and watch the sun rise. He has been walking along the beach for the last hour, contemplating the fact that this may be the last time he sees the sun rise over England. A sudden swell of emotion makes him blink rapidly, and he sinks down on the sand and rests his head in his hands. Jumbled images of his many years of service run through his mind. He has never shied away from acknowledging the unsavoury things he has done in the defence of the realm, and he doesn't do so now. He faces it all and once again comes to the same conclusion; if he had to do it over again, he would. There is nothing he wants to change – not even the abject failure he made of his marriage. All of it has shaped the man who sits here now. And that man is at peace with the choices he made over Albany. Despite the guilt he feels over giving away a state secret, he knows that he would not have been able to live with himself if he'd made any other, and his thoughts naturally meander to her.  
_Ruth._

He continues to vacillate between intense hope that she'll come, and thinking that she'll be better off if she doesn't. What is he offering her, after all? A life to be spent on the run, with a false name, and forever the fear lurking in the back of their minds that they'll be found and thrown in prison? It is not fair of him to ask that of her. Perhaps the honourable thing to do is to leave now, before she finds him, and take the choice out of her hands. Or is that the dishonourable thing to do? His heart reminds him, yet again, that he never asked her to come, but that she offered to out of her own accord. It is a comforting thought, and it is the main reason preventing him from leaving without her. That, and his desire to know for sure, one way or the other, whether she wants a future with him in it. Thinking about her makes him restless and he looks at his watch. It is seven in the morning. There are thirteen hours to fill, and he stands up, brushes the sand from his jeans and begins to walk back along the beach. The day stretches before him endlessly, and he knows it will feel like the longest day of his life. He resolves to take it one minute at a time. First he will find a place where he can have breakfast and read the paper in relative quiet. Then he will make his final preparations, and try not to fret over whether she'll come or not. That, he realises, is a hopeless resolution, but he makes it anyway, because today is a dangerous day to be distracted.

- 0 -

_Leeds_

Kenny drums his fingers on the steering wheel and glances at the clock again. Once they entered Leeds, his mysterious passenger had woken up and directed him to a smallholding a few miles outside the city. She ordered him to wait in the car and had rung the bell, spoke briefly to whoever opened the door and disappeared inside. That was almost forty minutes ago, and he is getting worried. Has something happened to her? Should he go and check? Then again, he doesn't even know her name, so what will he say to whoever opens the door? He shifts in his seat and glances at the clock again, then makes up his mind. He will call Dimitri. Just as he begins to scroll through his Contacts, the door of the house opens and the woman emerges. She is carrying something, and he stares in surprise. When she gets in beside him, he appraises her anew. The more he learns about her, the more she intrigues him. She turns her grey-blue gaze on him and smiles apologetically. "Sorry I took so long. Shall we get on?"  
Kenny smiles back, finding it impossible not to reciprocate her lovely smile, starts the car and moves off.  
"Will we make it in time?" she asks anxiously, obviously worried that the amount of time she spent in that house was ill-advised.  
He nods firmly, eager to reassure her. "Yes, er... Ma'am. We'll make it."  
She looks at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement over the 'Ma'am', but she doesn't provide him with a name. He is strangely disappointed with that.

- 0 -

_London_

They have done their business over breakfast, and now they are lingering over coffee. The Home Secretary has delivered the support of their coalition partners for one of the PM's pet projects – the reform of the NHS – and now the PM is in a convivial mood. Towers judges the atmosphere ripe for the final issue he wants to discuss.  
"Prime Minister, do you remember Sir Harry Pearce?"  
"Yes, of course. The senior Intelligence officer convicted of treason – I'm not likely to forget that."  
The PM looks at Towers shrewdly. "If I remember correctly, you spoke on behalf of the man, and with passion too."  
The Home Secretary proceeds circumspectly. "Yes. The situation is rather unique. It's not a straightforward case of treason by any means."  
"How so?" The PM can't hide his interest. Few men in a position of power can resist the lure and the mystery of the Secret Services, and he is no different.  
Towers notices this, and exploits it shamelessly. He explains what happened in extensive detail, and is gratified that the PM seems genuinely interested. When he finishes, the PM picks up his teaspoon and toys with it thoughtfully.  
"Hmm. It seems a pity to have lost such an experienced man to these unfortunate circumstances. I suppose there's something noble in what he did – saving the life of his officer. What do you think he would have done if Albany actually worked?"  
The question surprises Towers, but he does not hesitate. "Harry Pearce has one of the surest moral codes I've seen in any man. I don't think his conscience would have allowed him to give Albany away under those circumstances." He is silent for a moment. "He would have sacrificed his officer," he concludes. _And it would have destroyed him_, he thinks, but he keeps that thought to himself.  
"What happened to him?" the PM wants to know.  
"He is under house arrest." Towers prudently does not mention Harry's disappearance.  
"And why are you bringing this up now?"

This is the moment of truth. Towers reaches for the folder on the chair next to him, and extracts the petition. "Because I have a petition, supported by all members of management of the Intelligence community, to pardon him."  
He watches the PM carefully, and is happy to note that his friendly demeanour does not change. The PM glances at the petition cursorily before putting it aside.  
"Let's put all the cards on the table, William. It's you more than anyone else who wants this, isn't it? Tell me why."  
Towers smiles ruefully; a man doesn't become the PM by being an idiot, apparently. He doesn't find it an easy question to answer, but he tries his best. "Because there are few men that I respect more than Harry Pearce. He could be a difficult, moody bastard, but I quickly learnt to listen to his advice. I have never met anyone more committed to the best interests of the country, even to his own personal detriment. He was willing to make the hard decisions, and made them without thought of personal ambition or self-interest." He looks at the PM. "He is an honourable man, and God knows we don't meet many of those in our line of work."  
The PM regards his companion thoughtfully. "I don't think I've ever heard you speak so highly of anyone."  
Towers says nothing, and the PM nods.  
"All right, I'll consider it."

- 0 -

_Whitby_

It is half past seven in the evening, and Harry moves towards the end of the pier slowly. He is too early; he knows that. And it is terrible tradecraft to hang around in a conspicuous place for a half hour or longer; he knows that too. But he can't help himself. Now that the time is almost here, he can't pretend any longer. He wants her to come. He _needs _her to come, if only to say goodbye. Is this how she felt all those years ago, waiting for the boat on that cold Thames dock? Increasingly his thoughts are going back to that day, to everything he felt and thought, because this time the roles are reversed, and perhaps her feelings now are mirroring his back then. Or perhaps not. He hasn't had any contact with her for a year; can he even attempt to understand what she is feeling?

If she does come, she will be right on time. This knowledge makes his early arrival even more foolish, but he doesn't leave. He stays rooted to the spot, leaning his back against the railing and watching the other people walking around the pier in the growing dusk. In an effort to distract himself, he plays a guessing game about the professions of the people around him. The neatly dressed man with the well-manicured hands and bored looking wife – an accountant; the young girl in the flashy outfit and too much make-up – an aspiring actress or singer; the old man in the thick woollen jumper with the weathered face and rough hands – a fisherman, and so on. When he glances at his watch again, it is five minutes to eight. He scans the surroundings, but there is no sign of her.

A sense of dread begins to settle in his stomach and he turns his back on the pier, staring out to the ocean unseeingly. He forces himself to think about how long he will wait here before he gives up. _Forever_, his heart answers immediately, but the practical side of him begins to calculate how long the boat can be delayed. It needs to be far from here by daybreak, so perhaps another hour would be acceptable, but no more than that. All the while he is subconsciously listening for footsteps behind him, waiting for a small hand to touch his shoulder. He is also half expecting a heavy hand to grasp his arm, belonging to someone who wants to take him back to that house in Sussex. But he only hears two children running, and the heavy tread of the old man moving away from him. He is too afraid to look at his watch again. There is a light pattering sound behind him – a small dog, he decides, and becomes aware of a small furry shape sitting near him. He looks down to find a Jack Russell puppy staring at him inquisitively, and its mischievous face and alert eyes makes him smile. Slowly he squats down and holds out his hand for it to sniff. It does so, the wet nose touching his fingers briefly. Apparently satisfied that he was a friend rather than a foe, it begins wagging its tail enthusiastically and bounds forward, trying to clamber up his leg to lick his face. Harry laughs and picks it up. "Hello. You're a friendly little..." He holds it away from him briefly and peers underneath, "...fellow, aren't you?"

He is distracted by the puppy and only realises someone has approached him when a pair of flat-heeled ladies' boots appears in his field of vision.  
"Oh," he says as he begins to straighten up. "Is he yours...?" His words falter when he looks into her face.  
"Ruth," he breathes, clutching the dog to him and staring at her, lost for words.  
She smiles at him, but it is a tight, tense smile. "Do you like him?" she asks, her eyes dipping to the wriggling dog in his arms. It is a superfluous question, because it is obvious to her that it is love at first sight on both sides, but she is too nervous to come up with anything more intelligent to say.  
"I..., er, yes, he's gorgeous," Harry replies, totally flustered.  
"He's for you," Ruth says. "I mean I bought him, but as a gift. For you. I was going to get a bitch, but when I got there this little guy was so adorable that I couldn't resist." She knows she is rambling, and stops talking, and they stare at each other, lost in the moment.  
"You came," he blurts, and his voice cracks with the emotion of it all. A horrible thought occurs to him and he searches her face. "Or are you only here to give me the dog, and say goodbye?"  
She stiffens. "Is that what you'd prefer?"  
Hope and terror vie for dominance in his expression as he takes a step towards her. "No. I want you to come with me. But it's selfish, and I can't ask you to-"  
"Yes."  
Harry is startled into silence. When he goes completely still, she realises he has misinterpreted her meaning. "No! I don't mean yes it's selfish, I mean yes I want to come with you. Oh, God..."  
She makes a helpless gesture and looks down, defeated by their inability to communicate clearly. He laughs softly and steps even closer, and she feels his hand against her cheek, gently lifting her face so he can look into her eyes. Despite his smile there are tears in his own when he says hoarsely, "Please come with me, Ruth. I'm lost without you."  
"Harry," she says, filling his name with love, before framing his face in both her hands and kissing him.

He is still holding the dog in one arm, but his other folds around her and draws her against him as they continue to kiss. She doesn't want to stop, but a part of her registers that they are drawing attention to themselves and she pulls back. "We better go. We're too exposed here."  
Harry nods, a little dazed by events. He slips an arm around her and guides her back along the pier. Her hand rubs his back as they walk, and he's happier than ever. The puppy yawns loudly, making them both laugh.  
"What's his name?" Harry asks.  
"I thought I'd leave that up to you. He's your dog."  
He pulls her closer against his side. "No. He's _our_ dog."  
Ruth looks at him, touched by the sentiment, and lays her head on his shoulder. She likes the sound of that.  
A contented silence settles between them, until Harry says suddenly, "How about Charlie?"  
She stops walking and turns to him, grasping the meaning behind the name immediately. Her own thoughts go back to her discussion with his daughter and a slow smile spreads across her face.  
"Yes. It's perfect, Harry." She reaches out a hand to stroke the dog's head. "Charlie," she says softly.  
Harry watches her, his gaze gentle and adoring. He presses a kiss to her temple, and they walk on, gradually melting away into the night.

- 0 -

_One month later  
London_

The Home Secretary steps onto the Grid, with the JIC Chairman trailing behind. Dimitri is first to spot them and comes over. "Home Secretary, can I help you?"  
"Ah, yes. Can you gather everyone round? We want to make an announcement."  
Once all Section D personnel are accounted for, Towers speaks up. "It concerns your former boss, Sir Harry. I know that there is a lot of ill-feeling about the way he was treated, but today we have some good news on that front."  
He turns to the man next to him. "Richard, would you do the honours?" he requests sweetly, as though he is doing him a big favour.  
Dolby's face scrunches up distastefully, but he says dutifully, "Thank you, Home Secretary." He looks at the ring of faces briefly before announcing, "Yesterday the Prime Minister granted Sir Harry Pearce a full pardon for his role in the events that led to Albany ending up in the hands of the Chinese. His professional record will be cleared of all mention of treason. He will not return to work, but will receive his full pension and other benefits due to him. The Prime Minister also wishes to laud Sir Harry for his years of service, and wants him to know that the country owes him a great debt. Thank you."

When this episode is related to new recruits in the years that follow, it is said that the resulting cheer could be heard many floors down. It is also said that Richard Dolby retired a month later and disappeared into mediocre obscurity, never to be heard from again.

- 0 -

_Three months later_

Tariq corners Dimitri in the Men's Room. "I want to show you something."  
He draws a printout from his pocket and hands it over. It is an article from the North Devon Gazette, dated two weeks ago. It gives the results of the local Pub Quiz competition, with the names of the winning team's members listed. Among the names are Malcolm Wynn-Jones, Harry Pearce and Ruth Pearce. Dimitri beams at Tariq. "The opposition never stood a chance, poor bastards."

They go back to their desks, happy in the knowledge that sometimes things do work out for those who really deserve it. As he settles behind his desk, Dimitri looks at the article again, and smiles. He lifts his coffee mug in a toast.  
"_Stinygiasou_, Harry and Ruth."

_Fin_


End file.
